in 1983 and a half
i was dating a mermaid called marina
i was hooked on a drug called glass
i often had that glazed over look
sometimes i felt shattered
sometimes i felt transparent
i was on a tour in south america
the magic realists tour
cocaine was 5 cents a gram
and you could get a five course meal for a smile
orphans hounded us
they kidnapped our then keyboardist
a czech needed cash
he turned up 3 years later in memphis
wearing a skirt and saying he was malcolm fraser
i was in a hotel room
trying the local glass
it came in clear sheets
it had no odour but a sharp taste
we were playing in the forests
in the glens
down by a racetrack
in the market square
in my bathroom wine flowed from the taps
red wine from one side
white from the other
my feet were screaming
my songs were still in customs
being inspected
the south americans slept all day
i roamed the empty streets
thieving from unattended bazaars
an old lady told my fortune with the cards
she smiled and then cried
and she smiled again
she smacked me round the head
and told me in to fuck off back to montevideo
the orphans caught up with me
joined by a load of urchins
ploogy had a friend called bbbob
who was a albino herm with esp
and a ford aurora
with creamy bucket seats
and a console made of jet and obsidian
the car smelt of sandalwood and indica cigarettes
bbbob picked us up in amazon street
just round the corner from the brazilian bank
where i saved a gazillion pesos by feigning interest
the glass really kicked in
a window of opportunity
the coppers were keen to interview me
let em get in line behind los pop hits i thought
and some tv show on after midnight in rio
where things got real magic realistic sometimes
i’d watched it before
when some shaman with a crow had been on
and some author who claims to change into a jaguar
(or was it a daimler)
the glass was letting it all through
the mermaid had swum a long way to get to our next gig
which was down in some bar in chile
but she was netted by japs for re-surch
an ugly business
they stood on her scales
she was tanked to the gills
holy mackerel!!
the sub-mariners own sweet sister
angled like a perch
with baited breath
flounder about
it really cut her up
and that is why i dont drive mazdas or fiats
in my hotel room
condensation was forming on my glass
i gotta get outta here i called my evil manager
roger u centsless
theres a boat leaves next week says centsless
its bound for joppa……
be on it he said
our last gig at the old brazilian was a failure
ploogy gave away his snare drum and his microphones
and then he gave away his kidneys and other organs
our trombonist was arrested after a scuffle in a nightclub
involving an incan prince inkin’ prints
and some hookers booked by the bookers for the cookers
by hook or by crook but look……
they were all shook up
jimmy jim jim our californian zitherist
who came on for universal chord
fell into some glass on santiago blvde
i can see everything he said
before he got all misty
the tour lost a prophet
the loss was sustained
our record co satan lucifer records
funded by bad corporations
trading in naughty products
well
they bailed us out
after i promised i’d write another
over the mrilky lei
of course
i did
that song was called
rock lil honeybun (cos big daddy gonna gitcha) (pts 1 and 2)
and the rest
as they say
is
hystery